Bending the Rules
by Miss Mario
Summary: The Entity comes across a troubled girl with a muddled life (and a notable surname), along with her envious nemesis. More potential for his twisted games of torture. They are both hauled into the Entity's playground, unsure of what to expect. Then again...what is to be expected of them?
1. Chapter 1

**I was really unsure whether I'd attempt a Dead by Daylight story or not, but, I have this presistant urge to try it out and see how it manages. So, I'm doing just that! This story is entirely fisrt person since I feel that would portray the sinister vibe of the game better, however, only certain killers will get POVs. All the survivors get POVs. To clear up which killers get POVs, here's the list: The Princess (OC), The Clown, The Doctor, The Nightmare and The Pig - that's it. I feel the others would be too difficult to write given their roots/mental state, or because they are just incapable of speech/emotion. If you have any criticism on how I am writing a certain character incorrectly (apart from my OCs for obvious reasons), please let me know and I'll take it into consideration.**

* * *

 _ _Dairy Entry 001__

 _ _When I opened my eyes, it was as if I hadn__ _'_ _ _t. I can't say whether it was because I was confronted wholly by a sea of eternal darkness, or because I was hovering effortlessly, a mysterious force cradling my body as though this was all a dream. As it would turn out…__

 _ _It was anything but a dream.__

 _ _Confused, I had a lot of questions with no one to ask. Despite looking around, no friendly outline caught my eye, just that black emptiness from the start. For a second I could've swore…maybe I was reincarnating, to another being; the void I rested in was the universe's womb, a form of purgatory until my rightful place was found. How could I have missed the flight to heaven? Was I not good enough?__

 _ _Oh, right…__

 _ _I can't say I've been in touch with my ingrained faith as of the late.__

 _ _Catholic.__

 _ _When I say 'ingrained' I feel aware that there was no way around my attitude. I doubt defending my actions will would do much for me under my current circumstances, however, I prefer to believe I was not entirely to blame. I was not religious; this was my punishment…__

 _ _Right?__

 _ _I still don't know. I cried for a while. Maybe four hours - that sounds accurate enough.__

 _ _Now, the fireplace evaporates my tears and I nudge in close to it, flames blocking my view of the others from underneath my arms - in denial.__

 _ _I don't know if I can trust these people…__

 _ _I don't know why this is happening to me…__

 _ _And I don't know how I'm going to live up to the name, survivor…__

* * *

[Meg POV]

Another day, another match. Why the fuck do I even call it that? It's like I'm too used to it by now, and the only thing I ever gain out of it is a sadistic workout session. My head feels heavy, damp with sweat. I stumble into my seat as an icy numbness strikes my two legs, foot-first. A severe case of pins and needles, only the kind you experience when you're on the verge of fainting.

Of course Claudette notices.

She's always the first to notice something off. Naturally, she slides over to me, to the end of the log. Her hand in placed on my back, to comfort or to catch?

"Everything okay, Meg?"

An experienced, raspy voice that always lightens my mood. Her tone is like a beautiful blend of sweet and savoury - I doubt anyone could dislike Claudette, even if they tried.

"I'm good."

"Your sure?"

Her hand is now lifting my upwards, my eyebrows raising along with the rest of me. I turn to give her the same glance of mutual respect we've had since day one.

"How many times have we had this conversation." I murmur jokingly.

I don't think she caught the joke - her energy was wiped away like a fresh stain after I had said that. I shouldn't have; Claudette was not the strongest player we had here, however, she was the most resourceful. I hated seeing the productive side of people rather than the the side that actually mattered, but when you're stuck in a hellish game of survival, you're forced to.

Claudette's sniffling brought my attention back to the impact I unintentionally left. Before I could break the silence to apologise, she spoke in an even raspier voice than usual, "I wish there was a way out."

I paused.

"...I know."

What else could I say? After that hesitation I had to redeem myself.

Seems Quentin was still lurking about - no surprise there. He stood still about ten feet away from us, the baggy rings under his eyes (the colour of a bruise) disturbingly brought out by the fire's glow - a look for him.

He looked worn. Looks here are not too deceiving.

His arms were brought to the back of his neck, "We should try and focus on the positive, you guys."

Ugh, that monotone voice. Those lazily absurd words tempted me to shoot back a series of rhetorical questions, however, Claudette did not have to go through that.

Not on my watch.

"Do you even sleep any more?"

A change of subject was increasingly necessary - good timing on my part.

"...nah, what's the point."

He shrugged as if it were nothing to him. Nothing meant anything to him, I thought when he first arrived, but overtime I quickly learned that he was here to help us: mentally and physically. Personally, I didn't approach him whenever I had a problem. I don't approach anyone whenever I have a problem, now that I think about it.

It doesn't mean shit when you look at the bigger picture.

Anyhow, himself and Claudette talked after a while, so I left. Not that I'm not hostile, I just felt like a shadow behind them both, cast out by the fire. They had warm conversations. I can't remember the last time I used comforting words. Anything I say these days rubs off my tongue like sandpaper, leaving ugly blisters , and they sting.

I was certain everyone else was sleeping, so I minded my own business and circled the camp, bringing me that little bit of freedom I forged. Strolls were a custom for me, I always had to start the day with a stroll - end it with a stroll. This was a knock-off stroll. A stroll is meant to have a destination in mind; a place to conclude it so that you could move on with your day knowing you got a little exercise in.

No, not this.

I stopped walking. I don't know why. I was just going to walk back to the camp to see if I had tired myself out enough to sleep, but, my eyes were glued open. I was in a state of silent panic. Something momentary came over me, freezing me entirely - nothing was there, yet I felt exposed. I was captured in the moment, like a deer in headlights. I didn't dare to move; this meant something.

Suddenly, as though I knew, a faint golden hue painted over some surrounding rocks. It was a shimmering light I very much recognised, and triggered both curiosity and pity - that abnormal combination. I found myself again as I crept over to the source of the phoney glow. The heavenly colours were a cruel contradiction within this hell-hole an unsuspecting soul just discovered. Whoever they were, they were not going to like it one bit.

The only other time I remember running into a newcomer was when I physically ran into a golden flash, blinding me. A split second late, I came face to face with Feng. That look she gave is imprinted in my mind - one of the only funny moments I've had here. There was a sheepish exchange of giggles and greetings.

I like Feng. I like all of the campers.

Will I like this one?

I approach. My arm outstretched. My fingers grip onto the edge of the rock as I peer in, like a child slowly lifting their pillow in anticipation of a coin in exchange for their tooth. I see a hunched back, a faded green shirt - a healthy green. Soft strands of baby blonde hair are held together by a thick bobbin, navy blue. Her pale hands reach for her face, rubbing what I know to be eyes. Definitely a human - a girl I'm sure. She is not facing me, so I make the decision to speak, "Hey, you new?"

A dopey response as she twists her body clumsily before looking up in my direction - unfazed, almost. Her misty grey eyes meet my stern blue ones - we are both unsure. Her face is presented by her drawn hair, hung curtains on either side of her head - messy and equal; they covered her cheekbones enough to give her face a roundish appearance - it made her look younger than she probably was. Very light freckles dotted her face, the same light blonde - you wouldn't notice it unless you were as critical as I was there; I severely analysed this girl, like she was a topic due to appear on a vital exam.

I honestly miss school.

"Where…am I, exactly?"

She got straight to the killer question, lucky me. I avoid it, "Follow me, it's cold out here."

Her face scrunched up in confusion, from what I could tell. I don't blame her. This is how we all felt when we first arrived here.

"Huh? Could you at least tell me where I am?"

She's whispering now. Some sense of caution, thankfully.

"Look, I'd tell you, but I'd rather get you back to the rest of our group first so we can give you a worthwhile explanation. Okay?"

The troubled girl gave me another look-over before blinking, and, strangely enough, relaxing her shoulders, "All right." She agreed.

I felt bad for providing her with the impression that her situation was nothing serious. Our situation. I had to let her know we're all for one when we get back. I had to. No sleep tonight - she had to know how to survive, or I'll never forgive myself for letting her first day go a shit as mine did.

* * *

[Dwight POV]

I was exhausted, but could not manage to fall asleep. I had a side-way view of old man Bill, sharp, gruff snores and a wrinkle of the nose every so often. A pattern began to form after a while, every fifteen seconds, a snore, but after a two minutes he'd jab the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, turning around grouchily, the blankets in his clutches; I'd have to wait another couple of minutes before getting a look at his steel features again - I hope I age that well.

Why can't I fall asleep like everyone else? I've never had an enjoyable experience with camping, not before and most certainly not here. It's like I'm a bad luck magnet. I can never have anything. Not even a good night's sleep.

Reluctantly, I sit up, my eyes aching. I'm drowsy, but not sleepy.

Wait…I hear Claudette!

And is that Quentin too?

If they weren't out there I wouldn't have left my tent, but company is a necessity when you've been spending two hours wide awake in the dark.

Once I'm outside they both look up knowingly, with Claudette gesturing me to sit beside her. I think we have a solid relationship - she's one of my favourite people here. Quentin's a chill guy too. Don't know how I managed without him…in the past. It surprises me I haven't snapped yet, rolling freakishly across the ground with fizzing foam around my mouth, as if I was a rabid creature on the verge of death. There's no death here, though. No way out. As depressing as it was, it was the truth; David made sure to remind us daily.

"Can't sleep?"

I was asking, but the same applied to me, so it could have just been a statement of my own.

"Naturally, nope."

Quentin gave a deflated smirk at his bland remark, and Claudette chuckled wearily. Now two pairs of eyes were anticipating my response.

I winced, "Uh, so…anything on your minds?"

Nothing in particular to discuss on my part; I was bored.

Claudette glanced around the camp-fire, an alert cat. Her eyes bounced back to us, "Meg's been gone a while…"

Quentin hummed briefly, as a sign of agreement - now he looked concerned.

"Hope her legs didn't give out. I should go and look for her." He stood up once he said this.

I exchanged looks with Claudette, and she nodded along with me. As we watched Quentin march ahead; I wondered how he was so attached to us. We weren't his family, but he often treated us as though we were. It gave me a relieving feeling inside; a soft, fluttery feeling of worth. I was worth something to him. Everyone was.

On cue, Claudette turned to me with a petite smile, "Maybe a lullaby would help?"

At first, I was stunned, visibly recoiling with a panicked expression. My act of shock puzzled Claudette, but she didn't know my end match was a frantic chase between myself, and a prowling Huntress - ready to strike with those wild axes, with an equally wild desire to cut straight into my back. I was fortunate to trip into a hatch while I turned to check up on her aiming arm, falsely soft humming growing closer. She tried hurling the axe directly into my skull as soon as she realised where I was headed, but my foot had already got caught below the rim, sending me head first into the hatch.

I couldn't have been more happy to trip into a hole.

"Oh, u-uh…okay." I breathed out the last word - it was Claudette singing, not her.

Out of the blue, her nurturing hands seized my head, lightly leading me into her lap, in front of a toasty orange fire. Her left hand ran through me nest-like hair, worrying me - I forgot to brush it. However, she didn't seem to mind as her shoulders began to sway; a song formed in her mouth, buzzing delicately though compressed lips. I could not put my finger on the tune, but if I meant something to her, it meant something to me also. I shut my eyes along with her, lulling off in to what I hoped would been a long-lasting sleep.

Dully vibrant colours ran through my head, as her singing became more distant from me. Hums vibrated in my mind, providing a warm swarm of colours. Soon, I saw the sun, and my home. My parents stood outside the door, grinning at me. Birds twittered in the background as I got to my feet, squinting my eyes in disbelief.

"I made you lunch Dwighty-poo!"

It's mom!

My friends waved me off, and continued their game of tag. I was set to go. I ran towards her as fast as my toddler legs could carry me, for a hug, a kiss and a delicious lunch. Her arms spread out, ready to catch me.

I was asleep.

* * *

[Claudette POV]

I was so relieved to see him drift off in my lap. Dwight was the cutest thing. I massaged his forehead, wishing him a peaceful rest. I noticed that he jumped when I suggested a lullaby - that wicked Huntress. One thing I can't stand is injustice, and picking on an innocent soul such as Dwight is a disgusting act. I can't stand the pain of my friends; it ends up hurting me too. Now, at least, he could find some comfort.

Although I wanted to carry him back to his bed, I was well aware I didn't have the strength. Waiting for Quentin, and hopefully Meg, to return was my best bet.

So, I did.

It took a while, but eventually I heard the rustling of grass to my left, with what sounded to be more than one person. The first person to emerge was Quentin, who had a sober look in his eyes, for once. It took me by surprise, but I could hear someone behind him, so Meg had to be with him.

She was.

Again, a serious glance. They were both statue-still, like a pair of bouncers with their arms folded in severe disapproval. Were they waiting for me to say something?

I just shrugged my shoulders, feeling a little targeted - insulted, nearly.

Beyond all expectations, a third face met between theirs, looking as lost as a neglected puppy. Her pout reminded me of an upset pug, triggering my instant pity; not because of that, however, it was the same reason Quentin and Meg looked so stern.

Sighing, I shook my head and faced her, "Hi…please take a seat…"

Once myself and Meg and lifted Dwight back to his tent, the three of us sat in a row, with the confused girl lone on the other side of the camp-fire. Meg was ready to go, eyeing us before sitting up straight, "Alright, there's a lot to get through, but I think the three of us can cover it."

"A lot?"

Yes, she was definitely unsure. Completely unaware. There would be a lot of emotions shed tonight, I realised.

"Mm-hmm, but try to stay with us, okay?" I added, hoping it would settle her nerves.

"I'm listening."

Meg got straight into it, "The main motto of our group is to help each other out as much as we can, so remember that as I explain to you the circumstances we face daily."

"We understand if it distresses you." Quentin cut in, clearly worried.

She gave each of us a look before exhaling deeply, "I'm not going to like this, am I..?"

The three of us looked at each other, all thinking the same thing. I felt I had to reassure her before she was exposed to the gritty details, "I never caught your name."

"It's Izzy Baker."

I smiled, "Nice to meet you, Izzy."

"Ditto." Meg threw in.

"Welcome aboard." Was what Quentin said. I felt the tension between him and Meg; she felt like backhanding him for the silly comment, I was sure.

 _"_ Just…give it to me then - what's the big deal?"

Izzy wanted to know by now, with the way we had been skipping around it. Meg nodded firmly, understanding it was about time we told her.

And so we did. We told her everything, from bottom to top. The concept, the tactics, the killers, the realms, the hooks, the generators, the gates, the pallets, the people she had to trust and…worst of all, the Entity - the reason we were here.

It must have had an impact on her; she started sobbing after a while - after the long explanation. I told the others I wanted to talk to her, but when I tried she gave me the cold shoulder. Her head was buried in her arms, refusing to be released. It made me tear up too. Unlike Meg and Quentin, I slept outside with Izzy for the rest of the night.

It was the least I could do.


	2. Chapter 2

[The Princess POV]

The most peculiar thing occurred. I stared, flabbergasted. Not a pleasant feeling, may I add. He told me that I'm wanted. Needed. An unexpected offer such as this gave me doubts, however, I was intently listening to what he had in store.

I'm certain she was too.

The unexpected guest was not human; no human would dare approach me. Sometimes I'm unsure myself what I'd do to a victim of mine - it highly depends on what they look like. Of course, I am aware that sounds petty in a sense, yet endearing at the same time. Who knows what treatment you'll get, no? It's a gamble to tango with me alone, however, there's a third wheel in this party I am obligated to co-operate with. After all, she is the reason I am who I currently am. Before, I was little to an utter nobody. Wretched memories, those. I digress; she is a historical figure, a monarch, who blessed me with her magnificent powers. It is a little too obvious we have different motives. However, we often come to an agreement after a brief negotiation.

Such as right now.

" _ _Think about it, Edna__ ," She begins, her voice shrill and bloodthirsty, " _ _We can leave this plain wasteland behind and begin our true rein of terror, within a killing paradise the Entity offers us!__ "

I ponder, attempting to properly grasp the situation, "What do I gain out of this, exactly? Leaving that brat we've been trying to kill behind, to face a crowd of who-knows-whats? What if there are no pretty boys! I have a Prince in mind already, and he is settled here!"

" _ _Whine, whine, WHINE! Have you no SENSE?! We can become the most powerful beings to exist upon this fine offer, and you're sulking over some pea-brained Prince! Grow up, you insolent idiot!"__

I grit my crooked, stained teeth, one of the changes I was not so pleased with. Thanks to Mary, my entire appearance changed to mirror her's - what she used to look like. Before she died. Mary was a ruthless ruler of England, worse than any other. There were, at the very least, thirty executions a week, along with her own free will to kill - a pointed staff in her possession. She preferred to murder than execute; according to her, it was much more thrilling. Her thirst was quenched through a fountain of blood, harvest from the limp veins of those victim to her murdering spree. Mainly those who were executed would have their blood turned to 'wine': her favourite beverage. It did not get her drunk, it only got her malicious, which she is to this day.

She was known as Bloody Mary.

I only refer to her a 'Mary', however.

Mary provided a red glow within the staff I held - it is where she resides. She was about to speak again, before the Entity cut her off.

" ** **Ladies, please…**** " It attempted to calm us, " ** **Edna Everleigh. Is your true intent to kill?**** "

Usually, I suppose, with the morons I'm forced to live with. I answer in vain, "My intent is to murder Izzy Baker, that blonde rat!"

A sway of black matter got closer, " ** **I see. An Izzy Baker has recently joined us: blonde, pale…pretty.**** "

Ooh, he did not. I stifled back a curse, my blood boiling as I make the brash decision, "Take me. Now."

I felt Mary radiate murderously within the golden staff, satisfied with me.

" _ _Excellent__." She cackled.

Then, darkness engulfed us whole.

* * *

The atmosphere reels me in without warning, like a freshly caught fish ready to be gloated over. It is as though I am wanted here, but I myself am not too keen. Still, I take a look around. I am interested to see what I have agreed to.

The very first thing I notice is the age of the building. Old enough to admire; this place gives me Victorian Gothic vibes - a nice touch. I already know Mary will approve. Partly dusty here and there, as though two forces are working against each other. Many shelves with countless books, being a variety of dull colours; dim shades of blues, reds, browns, indigos and blacks. Not exciting. Fascinating. Traditional colours always held the most wisdom. A sea of velvet dominated the room, covering as much as it could. Whoever the interior designer was had an attachment for red and purple velvet. Smooth wood and rusty metal, oddly complimenting one another. Despite the continuous rows of selves holding wilted books, the entire room was very isolating to stand in. I was stood dead centre, to receive the best view, and I had gotten quite enough view to manage.

I turn to the door - hard wood. Above it in a fancy golden font, 'LIBRARY'.

Makes sense.

" _ _A__ __quaint room, don't you agree, Edna?__ "

"It's alright. It's also completely irrelevant to me." I point my nose up.

" _ _Very well, leave. I want to see more of this place.__ "

"And I want to find the brat we came here for."

" _ _We'll get to that soon enough!__ " She hisses, " _ _Onwards, Edna.__ "

I honestly feel like a dog in her presence. Do this, and do that. Bah! The nerve. I am well able to make my own decisions, without her breathing down my neck.

As a matter of fact…it feels as though someone __is__ breathing down my neck. My head bends at an insulted angle, and I glance behind me to see a bleached face, unlike anything I've ever seen before. I sneer at the stranger, irritated, "Do you mind?"

I turn my entire body now, my dress twists to keep up.

This man was significantly tall, black cut outs in the mask failing to provide a look of any sort - emptiness; his whole face was hidden. I suppose he had to have a face, and flesh, but a disturbing thought otherwise was beginning to form in my head.

Not that I could care less.

Right now, I am bitter. I let him know.

"You fail to reply? What are you, mute? Cease wasting my time like this, fool!" I snap.

He continues to stand there, only breathing heavily. The mask would result in such strained breathing, but it is unsettling regardless. I am not frightened, however I will certainly keep my distance from the freak. As I am set to storm off, Mary glows, " _ _Pitiful. A hidden identity. To scared to show your face to the world, mortal?__ "

She is teasing him.

 _"_ _ _Pathetic.__ "

I sense his arm budge. It began to move, all the while becoming more visible. There is a large knife in his bulging hand; a washed-out maroon colour stained it - obviously blood. The sharp end lit up as the chandler light was reflected by it.

" _ _How cute__."

My eyes rolled. I gave the man another stare; he returned it. His arm was stiff now. His knife was merely for show, at the moment - tipping upwards. Despite the protection of his face, I had to admit he had an impressive build. Not that I would tell him that. Why would I let him know what he most likely knew well? He is a killer like myself. We knew what we were made of. What we were capable of. My thin lips curved into a wide smile, "You will have to excuse my attorney; she believes she is beyond compare."

He does not move a muscle. I sense his grip on the knife tighten as I hear the faintest clenching sound between our silence. Dry friction. He also seemed dry. Unwilling to speak at the cost of his individual standards, which would hardly be popular among others; not saying a word keeps one from properly expressing themselves - like it mattered. Perhaps he felt this way: talking held no real purpose.

Only humans speak. In comparison, animals have a very limited vocabulary which only they understand - within their natural families. Like us, only much less complicated. Us humans attempt to understand them. Why? Pfft, I don't know. That's a ridiculous question anyway. Why would you want to understand an animal? What do they know that we did not? We know too much. We want to know far too much.

"Hmm, you really don't speak…"

I am proven correct as he refuses to respond.

"...or may you be a man of very few words?"

My bribe did not affect him. No response whatsoever. Although this would normally infuriate me, a bizarre feeling came over me; I craved to know what he was holding back. My desire was to manipulate him, and get a word out of his covered mouth. To hear his voice and keep it as my own. Yes, I was developing an fatal interest toward this man I just met. Fatal for myself or him? That is yet to be answered; I want something between us.

" _ _Edna…what are you getting at? Resist your temptations and leave, I was merely mocking this stooge."__

Stooge. She was the only stooge I could see. A staff. Unlike myself, she had no body - she was a spirit, long dead, bringing my weapon to life - an irritating life at that. To my utmost misfortune, however, she could easily posses me at any given time, if I failed to obey her. Disgusting, I know. I suppose she does let me argue with her…usually. I cannot say I have not yet been possessed by her, as I have. She ultimately had the final word, and I had to accept that. __Had__. If I got my own way I would be twice the tyrant she used to be.

"Tssk." I scoff, giving the intriguing stranger a final glance before facing the exit. I could not tell whether he was following me, but I hoped he was. Against Mary's command, I looked back to see him catching up to me, at a very set pace.

I stop.

He stops.

"...well? Aren't you going to open the door for me?"

I meant it. However, I asked.

The man took a few more similar steps to the door, looking me in the eye as he slowly pulled it open, not missing a beat. This was rather creepy. I like that about him. He was now a mannequin once again, so I walked out the door, in turn waiting for his response.

He stepped out, slamming the door abruptly.

I caught myself before I could jump, "Hmph, angry are we?"

That action was most certainly passive aggressive.

Of course he kept silent, and began to walk down the corridor without warning. He ignored me. I squinted my eyes as the distance between us grew, and stubbornly stomped up behind him to keep up. My heels cushioned by the carpet - a shame. I wanted to sound strict. He would just have to tolerate me, whether he liked it or not.

Besides, I hadn't clue where I was going.

* * *

[The Clown POV]

For the fifth time I admire my self-made finger chain. Each finger had a certain beauty to them; the shape and size held significance. None copied the other. Sure, they were all fingers, but they weren't the same story. Each had something different, like every survivor being different. The fingers mattered most. I am entitled to them. I want them.

Again, I give them another inspection. I like the variety. I chose well.

Suppose they were hand picked.

"HA HA HA HA!"

The laughter quickly flipped into a coughing fit - spluttering and wheezing. Yeah, I can't get that under control. Why bother? A laugh like mine is as unique as my finger collection. I have to live up to what I'm known for.

…heh, Trapper is looking at me.

I rattle my prised possession proudly, giving my best grin.

He's turning away.

Good. I'm a better killer than he'll ever be. Can't have him sizing me up, can I?

It won't be long now until I can cut off more fingers for my collection. To taste the blood drip out of it like melted chocolate - only red. I occupy myself by swirling around my pink potion, my gaze swirling with it. Reminds me of cotton candy they sold back at the circus I used to work for. Spinning around the cone, attaching to it like tape, to be handed over to a grubby little child. It would get their fingers all sticky, which would only make them lick it off, glazing them with saliva. That would leave a murky-sweet scent, which was what I was exposed to round the back of the circus tent. Smelt both bad and good, so I guess it was okay. Didn't bother me. I liked it. I felt saliva of my own build up in my mouth, which was initially dry. My shrivelled tongue absorbed the gland's nectar, like a sponge. I licked my lips, getting a taste of varnish. As a clown, I wear make-up.

The door opens and I'm jerked out of my little trance.

Great.

Who else but Myers to be standing pointlessly at the doorway? Like he had to do a head count before stepping in the damn room.

Before I looked away, I caught sight of an unfamiliar face trailing behind him. She looked irritated. Pouting a little. Then, she looked surprised. She had caught sight of the entire room, cogs turning in her head I bet, trying to figure out what the hell she was staring at. She glanced over everyone, her eyebrows arched in confusion, then her eyes found me. Personally, I found her attractive. Looked like every clown's dream girl. Make-up, check, expressive hair, check, defined proportions, check that twice. Her chin was an acute angle, shaping the stretched checks that were smothered with scarlet blush - a nice touch. I wanted to touch. Her skin peachy pink, like a soft strawberry milkshake. Tasty. That deluded eye sharpened, a crimson red - her other eye was covered up by hair that looked like it belong to a judge - a similar shade of crimson.

She knew I was staring, since she stomped right up to me as though I threw a paper air plane in class.

"Is there a problem? Your gawking at me like a hawk, red nose." She said that last part through her teeth.

They were as unhygienic as mine - another score.

"Well they didn't call me Jeffrey __Hawk__ for nothing, red head."

I wheezed at my own words. I'm hilarious. It's all too evident.

Seems curly locks over here didn't catch on to the joke since her face soured up in distaste. Just then, I saw her staff glow up and thought she was about to fry my face off. Turns out it was a voice of another woman speaking.

" _ _What kind of jest do you call this? Does your master possess no sense of humour?__ "

What the hell? There's two of them? Or is this her thoughts being read out?

"Master? Who are you talking about? The Entity?"

" _ _No, fool. Your ruler. King or Queen?__ "

Oh, so this isn't a dress-for-show. They were actually dragged in from another time-line. Or, maybe they're faking it. Wouldn't surprise me.

"I ain't got one. I run my own show, lady." I respond triumphantly.

There was a brief moment of silence. The woman herself appeared uninterested, looking elsewhere, with the staff pointed in my direction, it's light intensity shifting back and forth like a scanning machine.

Was this a joke? Not a very laughable one.

" _ _What do you call yourself, exactly?__ " She questioned.

We all refer to each other with our pen names, so that's what she'd be getting.

"The name's Clown." I grin widely.

" _ _Clown? You insult yourself? Fool…__ "

What the hell is she talking about? I mean look at me - I am a clown! I ain't cutting any corners here.

"Says the talking staff. Look, see the make-up? I'm a performer. Well, __was__ a performer. That was before I got my own show on the road. The peek of my career, heh heh." I expected her to leave it there, but, to my surprise, she replied.

"... _ _go on.__ "

I grunted in confusion. No one here gave a damn about each other, and here this pointed staff, not even the __lady__ , wanted me to continue.

I was drunk, anyway. I tend to run my mouth when I'm intoxicated.

"I was my own boss. I could have all the fun I wanted! There was no rules to bend 'cause there were no rules! So anyone who decided to drop in for a visit got a personal experience - the best seat in the house!"

" _ _What are you implying?__ " She asked.

I was implying a lot of things, really. My main motivation were the fingers, but hey, I got experimental sometimes. Never hurt me to try!

I raise my chain.

"This answer your question?"

Now the woman herself turned back, raising an alarmed eyebrow, then frowned blankly to express her indifferent view, "You collect fingers?"

"Yes!" I beam.

The staff tittered delightfully, " _ _How despicable, Clown. I'm beginning to like you.__ "

The woman rolled her eyes, "Don't feel encouraged. She doesn't mean that."

" _ _Yes I do. Why don't you leave me here Edna? Go and attend to your own business.__ "

She did as her told and let go of the slender handle, moving away from us immediately.

We waited until she was out of sight.

" _ _Insufferable. I cannot believe I am forced to live through her.__ "

Huh? This just keeps getting more complicated, don't it?

"What's that suppose to mean?"

A red aura surrounded the staff; suppose it was the only thing keeping her upright.

" _ _I am a cursed spirit - unable to leave the earth. I was trapped in a book before the girl you just witnessed opened it, freeing me. I was desperate, I suppose, so I possessed her with hope her spite for others would be compatible with my instinct to murder. Not terrible so far, but I require her to inherit my craving for blood. The will to kill anyone, you understand?__ "

Two in one? Original.

I shrugged, "I hear ya."

" _ _Her appearance once belonged to me.__ "

Oh really?

"You don't say? What were you, royalty?"

" _ _The rightful Queen of England, if you will.__ "

What do you know? Royal blood. Though, it sounded like she was more interested in everyone else's blood. I ain't complaining.

"Fancy that. I hear executions were a form of entertainment with you royals. Good taste, heh heh."

" _ _Indeed…__ "

For a second she stopped. I raised a brow, and she spoke again.

" _ _You must know about the conditions here, correct? Tell me everything I need to know.__ "

I could hear that venom creep up her throat. Was she staff or serpant? She sounded dangerous. What a woman.

"Everything?" I repeat playfully.

" _ _Yes.__ " She purred, " _ _Everything__."


End file.
